


Prompts & Drabbles

by JayWrites



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst, Comedy, Fluff and Smut, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Teacher-Student Relationship, meet cute, sexy fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked for writing prompts on my tumblr so I could keep my writing active. I'll be posting the ones that became fanfics here. Lengths may vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt 1: Tom Hiddleston

Prompt: "I got a prompt! Tom Hiddleston about to make love to a beautiful black woman named Jasmine who has the voice of an angel."

This is for JazzyTee :p

* * *

“My beautiful Jasmine,” Tom coos as he kisses the inside of your right wrist. “My delectable Jasmine.” Another kiss on the crook of your arm. “My Jasmine with the voice of an angel.” A third kiss on your neck. “Do me the honor of having your company for the night.”

You giggle as you playfully slap his chest. “Boy, why you always gotta make it so formal? Just say, ‘Ay, Jazz, lemme get in that ass!’”

“I like to think I have a little more decorum than that, sweetie.”

“Says the man who said he wanted to make tea out of my pussy juices.”

A wicked grin etches on his thin lips as he unbottons your blouse. “No,” he gently corrects. “I said I wanted to make tea from your panties. I want to make soup from your pussy juices.” He opens your shirt and smiles broader at the sight of your bra. “If you’re going to call me on my freak shit,” he pulls down a cup and exposes your breast, “at least get it right.” He trails a thumb over your brown nipple and licks his lips as it hardens under his touch. “Delicious,” he says before licking it. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you,” you joke before succumbing to a moan as his begins to suck on your tit.  

 

 


	2. Prompt 2: Tom Hiddleston

Prompt: "Do a drabble about a gent named Tom."

* * *

This is a tale about a gent named Tom.  
Who spoke softly and was always calm.  
If you were upset, he’d sway you with his charm.  
Watch out for a gent named Tom.

One day he invited a friend or two  
To his loft for a dinner review.  
He said, “You guys, I have a treat for you.”  
Watch out for a gent named Tom.

“Oh, a treat,” they said. “How very sweet!”  
“Yes,” he said, “a dinner of exotic meats.”  
“Come,” he waved. “Sit down and eat.”  
Watch out for a gent named Tom.

He watched with glee as they dug in.  
As they bit and swallowed, large grew his grin.  
They aahed and oohed as they chewed and chewed  
And questioned—between bites—the origin of the food.

“Is it chicken? Is it sheep?”  
“Is it pork? Maybe beef?”  
Of his own food he took a quick tiny nibble  
Then said, “You’ll know if you can solve this riddle:  
“It’s the most common species to ever walk the land.”  
He laughed at their guesses then said, “It’s man!”

They gasped and gagged and screamed and cried.  
“It can’t be man! It can’t be! He lied!”  
Tom quietly sipped his wine, unfazed by their shock  
Meanwhile his guests tried to run but found the door locked.

“That was just dinner. I’m in need of desert.”  
He pulled out a knife. “I won’t lie. This will hurt.”  
More screams and cries as the walls he splattered  
With his beloved friends blood and brain matter.

This was the fun part. It was never a bore  
He happily cut and sliced and gutted some more.  
When he was done he tasted some blood for a teaser  
And stuck the remains deep in his freezer.

Then quietly proceeded to clean up the rest  
Of the bloody remains of his poor dinner guests.  
When everything was as clean as it could look  
He ended the evening with a cuppa and a book.

Now I’ll end this here with a moral or two  
About what, dear readers, you should do  
If you were ever to meet a man so sweet and calm  
Watch out for him; especially if that gent’s name is Tom.


	3. Prompt 3: Chris Evans

Prompt: "The first time meeting Chris Evans, which would be at Disneyland, and you're wearing a Captain America shirt."

* * *

“Nice shirt,” the tall blonde man said.

Two words. A simple compliment that should have been answered with an easy, “Thank you.” But you didn’t say that, did you? No. Instead you stuttered and stammered while the man blushed and bit back a laugh.

“Are you okay,” he finally asks.

Again you find yourself completely lost for words. Where did your vocabulary go? You don’t even need all the words you’ve amassed in your short twenty-five years; just a few.  _Yes. No. I’m fine._  Yet here you are dumb again while your friends stand behind you giggling like teenagers.

This was supposed to be a breezy day. You were tired and overworked from trying to hold down two jobs and maintaining a 4.0 GPA for your master’s degree. One of your giggling friends suggested a vacation. You jokingly yelled out Disneyland only for them to readily accept. “We all need some childish fun,” she had said. You fought the decision. You were too old for that silliness, of course. But you lost—she’s very persuasive—and thank the gods you did.

Good silly fun was exactly what you needed. All afternoon your mind had been free from equations and tests and syllabi and the headaches that come with working in customer service. Your only concern now was stuffing your face of treats, trying not to vomit on the other passengers as you rode ride after ride, and getting pictures of your favorite Disney characters. The day was perfect.

Until…

Until  _he_  noticed you. The man who plays the character embroidered on your shirt. Chris Evans. Yep. Captain America himself.

You had always joked about what you would do if you were to ever meet your favorite actor. You imagined you’d be wearing something with a plunging neckline. You’d be flirtatious and irresistible. You’d leave him longing to kiss you or—better yet—he would actually do it. Then, if the gods were gracious, he’d do  _you._

However the meeting you got was much worse. There were no eye-catching dresses for you. No battered lashes and witty repartees between stolen glances. No romantic embraces or kisses. Instead here you are in your raggedy cut off shorts that are pressing too tightly into your thighs. Here you are in your cheaply made Captain America shirt with the now long-dried mustard stain on the shield. Here you are stammering as if you’ve never held a conversation in your life. Your friends, the blessed angels they are, are capturing it all on video. You’ll be internet famous in an hour.

“Miss,” Chris says, “are you having a panic attack? I can help you.”

“No,” one of your friends responds. “She’s just in awe of you.”

The comment makes more heat form in his cheeks. You’ve never seen someone so red. “I’m… I’m nobody. Really.”

“Are you kidding me,” you finally speak now. “You’re Chris Evans! I love you!” Your last three words draw an uneasy chuckle out of him. “I mean, your acting… your… characters… Captain…” Your attempt at clarifying yourself isn’t working. Great. First you couldn’t speak and now you can’t shut up.  _Why don’t you just plant a sloppy kiss on him seeing as you’re so intent on making things worse!_

Before you can mentally berate yourself further, Chris cheerfully says, “Well… I gotta run. It was nice meeting you all.” He holds his hand out for a shake. You offer him a limp, clammy hand shake in return. He shakes your friend’s hands then turns back to you. “I really do like your shirt. Although I don’t remember my shield being so yellow,” he jokes.

You manage to creak out a weak, “Th-thank you,” in reply. You pull the hand he shook to your chest as you watch him slip into the crowd.


	4. Prompt 4: Chris Evans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Chris Evans

Prompt: "Old flames."

* * *

Chris sat at his desk in a slight panic. He had just spent the last hour digging through all his possessions in search of the blueprints for a business his company was set to build. He had worked on it nonstop for two weeks straight so that it would be perfect only to lose it now. A day before the presentation!

Maybe he needed a break? Just an hour or two of non-work distractions. Surely that would help him clear his mind! “Amanda,” he called into the intercom, “hold all my calls. I’m heading out for a couple of hours.”

“Um… sir? I don’t think that’s possible. You see—”

“Amanda, please. Just until three. I need a break.”

“I-I understand that, sir,” his secretary’s voice stuttered. “But, you see…”

“What’s the problem?” another voice asked. “He’s in there isn’t he?”

“Yes, but-but, ma’am, he’s very busy! You can’t—”

Chris heard the two women argue for a moment. Without hesitation he reached into the top right drawer of his desk and pulled out his gun. It was unload. He actually hated guns so the weapon was just for show. Yet he kept it because it usually did wonders in scaring away the unsavory.

“Is there a problem here?” Chris asked as he opened his office door. The gun was hidden behind his back. It would be best to further wait so he could properly gauge this stranger. For all he knew, coming out swinging with a weapon would be a surefire way to get them all killed.

“Sir, this woman refuses to wait—”

“Well, I’m pretty sure ol’ Chrissy won’t mind me.”

The use of his college nickname caused his breath to shorten. “B-Brandy?”

She turned to face him, and when she did, Chris felt his heartbeat slow. “Hey, Chris. Or should I call you Mr. Evans now?” she asked with a large, playful grin.

Chris returned it instinctively. “B, I haven’t seen you in—”

“Over a decade,” she finished for him. “So are you gonna tell your guard dog to let me pass or not?”

Amanda’s face soured at the insult. If her boss hadn’t recognized her, this Brandy woman would’ve gotten a nasty earful. “Don’t-don’t call her that,” Chris stuttered out. Amanda smiled relieved that he took up for her. He thanked her before ushering Brandy inside his office.

The door was barely closed behind him before Brandy surprised him with a tight embrace; followed by an even more unexpected lingering kiss. Chris almost allowed himself to get sucked into the feeling of her soft, glossed lips on his. It had been twelve years since he felt her gentle touches. Twelve years since they held each other like this.

He was tempted to let it go on. Just for a while. A minute for every year they were apart.

Then he reminded himself _why_ they broke up in the first place. This kiss—this haunting reminder of a love long past—was out of place. Just like she was now.

Chris gently pushed her away and wiped his mouth. It took him longer than he would’ve liked for him to get his bearings. “What are you doing here, B… Brandy.” He had to remember to not use nicknames. That was too familiar. “Chrissy” and “B” were short leaps from “baby” and “sweetie” in his opinion.

“Well,” Brandy started as she took the seat in front of his desk. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pink tube and a hand mirror. “I just wanted to make sure everything was in position before our big meeting tomorrow,” she spoke as she reapplied her gloss.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said, ‘I wanted to—’”

“No, I understood that,” he corrected as he sat. “I mean what do you mean by ‘our meeting?’”

“I mean,” she recapped the tube and carelessly tossed it and the mirror back into her purse. “That the company that hired you is mine.” She gave him that signature broad smile of hers. Chris only replied with an opened mouth. “I can see you’re a bit shocked.”

“Uh… well… I mean….”

“Take your time.”

He didn’t appreciate her mocking tone. His displeasure showed on his features. “I meant,” he spoke much calmer now, “that I… didn’t know you had a new job. Last I heard you went to work for your father.”

“Oooh. You’ve been keeping tabs on me, Christopher? After all these years?” she teased.

Chris could feel his cheeks heat up at the accusation. He stood and face the window behind him to hide his embarrassment. Only she could make him lose his composure like this. “I, uh, I ran into Anthony a while back. He told me you both still keep in touch.”

“Yeah,” she answered with a smile. “One of the few people from our old gang that I still fucks with. Although, I was hoping to add another to the list.”

The comment brought his focus back to her. Dammit she looked so lovely. Even more so than in her younger days. Her dark brown skin practically glowed. Even under these godawful fluorescent lights which made everyone look pallid at best. She had cut her black hair into a short bob which made her round face stand out even more. Especially those big brown eyes. They still retained their mischievous glimmer. One bat of those devilish things and he’d be a goner. Any and every whim of hers would be given without the tiniest bit of goading. Although, if he were honest, she’d get her way regardless. He would never say no to her. Even when he should have.

Chris quickly looked back out the window. He couldn’t allow himself to go back down Memory Lane. Sure it’d be happiness now but soon the ugly memories would emerge. With them came the pain. Pain that hadn’t quite fully healed. Pain that kept him from having proper romantic relationships.

“About this company?” He attempted to stir the conversation back to business.

“Oh! Right.” She rose and walked towards him. Chris heart beat in rhythm to the sound of her heels on the hardwood. Every step unnerved him further. He said a silent prayer that she didn’t touch him. Lord knows what would happen if she did. With the hold she still retained on him—and his heart—he’d end up groveling at her feet before lustfully burying his face under that skirt she wore.

“Well, it’s not a new company per se.” She leaned against the wall so that now her face was within reach of him. Chris jammed his hands into his pocket. Maybe that would keep his trembling hands from reaching out and caressing her smooth skin. “It’s still my dad’s old one but with a new title. I couldn’t take over the company and keep that old name, now could I?”

Chris stepped a few inches away from her. “I see. It doesn’t make much sense to still be called Iverson & Sons, Inc. if there’s…” He caught himself before he could finish his statement. “Oh shit, B, I’m so sorry!”

“No, no. Don’t be. You can say it. There’s no point in calling it ‘and Sons’ if there aren’t any more sons, right?”

Chris looked at his feet in shame. “Brandy… I really am so sorry about the whole Eric thing…”

“By ‘thing’ you mean his suicide?”

He mentally kicked himself over his new blunder. “Oh shit. I keep fucking up.” He turned to her now. “I’m s—”

She waved his apology away. “Don’t. It’s okay. Not many people know what to say in situations like these. Death is one thing. But suicide? It always seems to bring out the worst in people. You don’t get condolences. Not really.” Brandy folded her arms across her chest. She stared off as she continued: “People smile in your face and give their shitty ass ‘I’m sorry’s’ but really they all blame you. ‘Why didn’t you _do_ something? Why didn’t you _say_ something?’” She glanced back at him. “This is the first honest conversation I had in the last year. Believe it or not.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes watered but they never turned into tears. She wouldn’t cry. He knew that.

Back when they were lovers, whenever she had a moment of pure vulnerability, she would either quickly change the topic or freeze him out altogether. It took him two years to properly learn how to read her emotional state. Even the smallest kind gesture would be enough to send this meeting from awkward to tragic. That’s why he kept his hands secure in his pockets. Even though every part of him wanted to hold her; to see if that wall she had placed years before their first encounter had crumbled in any way.

“But the business is doing well, huh?” he asked; taking a cue from their past to steer the conversation.

Her appreciation was clear in how quickly she delved back into the main topic. “I don’t wanna brag but we bought out a couple of smaller businesses in the last six months alone. I’m looking to acquire more in the future. One day you’ll see me on the cover of Forbes smiling big like these white, fat-cat assholes.”

Chris chuckled at the statement. “I don’t doubt it.”

He really didn’t. Brandy had always been determined. Any obstacle or setback she faced would be re-challenged and overcome with haste. She had once told him: “I’m black and I’m a woman. Two reasons for the world to kick me down. I gotta succeed. Failure’s only temporary anyway.” (He borrowed that last statement as a mantra. It was the reason why, at thirty-four, he had his own growing architectural company.)

“So in this world dominating plan of yours, where do I fall in?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… with all your success… why come to me? You can hire anyone you wanted. So why me?”

“Because I know you. And I like you. And, okay, at first I didn’t know this was _your_ company. I heard you do a great job for a fair price. I didn’t even know you were head of it until someone mentioned your name at a meeting a month ago.”

“So this is all some… cosmic coincidence?”

“Well, I don’t know about _cosmic_ but yeah. I pleasant one, I might add.” She playfully tugged on his tie then stepped closer. She leaned up, ready to plant another kiss on him, but he moved backwards before she could.

“No. No, Brandy. We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” She grabbed his tie again and twirled the bottom between her fingers.

“‘Why not?’” He snatched the tie from her hand. “Brandy, you of all people know why not!” His voice (and temper) raised an octave. He cleared his throat to calm himself. “You left me. Just… left! No note, no calls. Nothing. After three years. I deserved better than that.”

“Chris…” She paused to weigh her words. The last thing she wanted was to ruin this newfound opportunity. Brandy didn’t believe in fate but there had to have been a reason they ran into each other again, right? These things don’t just happen! Life had given her the opportunity to fix her mistake so why shouldn’t she take it?

“You’re right,” she conceded. “You did— _do_ —deserve better. You know I was awful at expressing myself then but if the last three years has taught me anything…” She paused again to consider her words. Her head began to ache. A voice within her warned her that she was getting too into her feelings. This would be the time where she usually bottled them up to deal with later in private. Yet she pushed the voice back then took a deep breath. “I have a therapist now.”

The quick subject change caused Chris to quirk a brow. “What?”

“A therapist,” Brandy repeated. “After Jason and Eric’s suicides, my parents encouraged me to see someone. They feared they would lose another child like that so… Anyway… we’ve been talking a lot. About You. Us. And…” Another deep breath. “There’s no amount of words that I can say that can make up for how I treated you. You loved me in a way that I haven’t ever really known before. So I… I got scared. I ran. I guess a part of me figured that if I just left then maybe I could, I don’t know, cut those feelings off cold.”

She shook her head then scoffed at her young foolishness. “Didn’t work. I’ve been spending the last decade or so trying to work you out of my system. Now, I’m not sure if it’s because I loved you so much then or now or because of the guilt… Maybe it’s both? But I have thought of nothing but you and that night nonstop.”

“Brandy—”

“No, Chris. Let me finish. Okay? Because,” she licked her lips, “because… This isn’t my way of asking you to take me back. Or for forgiveness. Because I sure as hell don’t deserve either.” Chris started to speak again but she cut him off. “No, please. Listen. If I could go back, if I could talk to twenty-two-year-old me… If I knew what I know now. Instead of booking the first flight back to New York, I would’ve said yes to your proposal.”

“Dammit, Brandy,” Chris replied before dragging his hands down his face. “It’s been twelve years!”

“I know! Like I said, I’m not asking for forgiveness or to start anew.”

“Then what was that kiss earlier?”

“That? I don’t know. Not fully. I’m definitely gonna have to work that out with my therapist later. But… what I _do_ know is that I really miss kissing you. It was honestly the only thing on my mind the entire week.”

Chris chuckled. “Yeah. I miss kissing you too. Physically we worked pretty damn well together.”

“Yeah we did, didn’t we?”

“So… you… just want to work together now, huh? That’s it?”

“See that’s the thing. I don’t know.”

“Goddammit, Brandy!” He rolled his eyes then fell down into his seat. “You say you don’t want to be with me again but you give me a kiss that say otherwise. Now you’re saying you don’t want a work relationship either! Wait… Are you firing me?”

“No! Calm down.” She took a seat on the edge of his desk. Chris’ eyes fell to her thighs and bit his bottom lip as he tried to dedicate his focus her eyes. “You still have the contract. Don’t worry. What I meant to say was… I didn’t come here to force your hand either way. I wanted to apologize for leaving you like I did. I was scared and stupid and you deserved a proper reasoning. You deserved better.”

“So you said.”

“Yes. And I still feel very strongly about you after all this time.”

“Again so you said.”

Brandy rolled her eyes at his curt responses but remained calm. He was allowed this anger after all. “Yes,” she answered again. “I’m saying I don’t know what I want because I don’t know what we are. I mean… I don’t believe in soulmates or any of that shit but… after all this time us meeting like this? I just think that somehow, some way, we were meant to be in each other’s lives. Can you agree with that?”

Chris sighed heavily as he hunched his shoulders. “I’ll admit it’s a bit bizarre.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“So what does that mean? Where do we go from here?”

“I was kinda hoping we could figure that out over lunch. You were heading out earlier, no?” She didn’t wait for his answer. Instead she rose, grabbed his jacket off the wall hook, and tossed it at him. “I’m gonna tell you like my therapist told me: ‘There’s a lot of issues we have to work through, things we have get past. None of that has to or even will happen today. We’ll take it one step at a time.’ So for now let’s just say that we’ll remain at the status quo. Two ex-lovers who now work together and sometimes kiss.”

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, I think that last one is gonna murk up the lines for us a bit. We might want to omit the whole kissing thing.”

Once again, Brandy surprised him by planting a quick, but potent, kiss on him. “Really? I think we should keep it. It’s very effective.” She opened the door then gave him another sly kiss. “Is that Italian place we used to love still downtown. I am dying for some fettucine. I’m buying.”

Chris dumbfounded as he watched her bounce out of the door. A tingle remained on his lips. It soon rippled down his chest and shoulders before spreading over his entire body. His heart began to race again. His palms sweated. Any words found themselves lodged in his throat. Just like that he was the same nervous nineteen-year-old boy who spotted her in his History 101 course. He knew he would be sucked back into her—into _them_ —before long. But he was older now. Wiser. He could resist his past urges better, yes?

Chris ran his fingers across his lips; the ghost of hers still lingered on them. He sighed in resignation. “Sweet Jesus,” he mumbled under his breath before exiting and closing the door behind him.

 


	5. Prompt 5: Sebastian Stan

Prompt: How about a meet cute thing with a tall black woman and either Sebby or Zac Levi?

* * *

 

Amanda and her friend, Patricia, shared a laugh as they walked towards the club entrance. The line was already pretty long and extended around the corner of the building. “Shit’s hella packed tonight,” Amanda said with a sniffle. It was a bit chilly outside but she opted against a jacket because she knew the amount of bodies in the building would keep the inside temperature up. She would end up getting sweaty, taking it off, then had the displeasure of holding it all night. She didn’t like to be bothered with keeping up with it; it was one of the reasons why she never carried a purse. Plus after a while it just became so cumbersome. If she ever needed to carry anything, well, that’s what her bra was for. The way Amanda saw it was if God had wanted her to utilizes purses and the like he wouldn’t given her such a banging rack. Credit cards, cash, hell even her keys could all fit in the crevice of her bosom. Anything else, well, that’s why pockets were invented! Still a jacket would have been a nice barrier between her and the evening air. “This is ridiculous!”

“I know!” Patricia agreed. “This line if far too long! I told you we should have gone to Lava instead.”

“No, not that. And shut up about that! I _meant_  this weather! It’s still summer but it feels like winter out here. This cold air can kiss my sexy black ass!”

“It’s not that cold, Mandy.”

“Then why am I shivering, Pat?”

“Because you’re wearing that tiny ass dress, girl. _And_  you refuse to wear a jacket like normal people.”

“Don’t start! Have mercy on the frozen.”

Ten minutes passed and the duo barely moved a foot. The line behind them grew so that it was now stretched two buildings down. “When will this fucking line move!” Patricia shouted to no one in particular.

“I know. I need to sit down my feet are killing me.” Patricia looked down at her friend’s shoes and scoffed. Before she could comment, though, Amanda put her hand up to silence her. “Don’t! I don’t want any shit about these heels. I love them, I look fly in them, and they set my outfit off.”

“Okay but like _why_  do _you_  need heels? You’re already six feet tall. You’re out here looking like fucking Goliath in these streets.”

“Aw,” Amanda teased, “are you still mad that you haven’t had a growth spurt since you were six?”

Patricia frowned. She was 5′2″ on a normal day but with the shoes she currently wore stood at a still short 5′6″. “I’m sorry. I won’t say anything else about your Amazon ass.” 

Amanda laughed at the quick shot. “At least I don’t have to–” Her words were cut off when a group of people behind her bumped into her. “Ay! Watch it!” she shouted. 

“So sorry,” the man behind her said. “There’s a rumble or something behind me. Throwing us all off balance.”

“A rumble?”

“Yeah, a fight.”

“Oh shit.” She surveyed the line and saw that some sort of ruckus was indeed taking place. She rolled her eyes. “They’re so stupid. They’re gonna get arrested.” The man agreed with a nod.

“This shit is wild,” Patricia said while also watching the commotion. “Mandy, let’s just go. Panic isn’t worth all this.”

“’Panic?’” the man repeated. “As in DJ Panic?”

“The one and only,” Amanda replied. “He’s DJ’ing tonight. Didn’t you know?”

“No! If I did I would’ve convinced my friends to go to Lava instead.”

“Well, Lava is the better club,” Patricia said with a smirk.

“Right? Better priced drinks at least. Plus the bouncers actually let you in.”

“I hear that!”

“Okay, you two, shut up about fucking Lava!” Amanda scolded.

“Sorry,” the man said with a smile. He turned back to his friends and their conversation. 

“He’s sorry but I’m not,” Patricia said. “Mandy, look, I know you really wanna see Panic live but we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes and the line hasn’t moved. The club closes at one and it’s already fifteen after twelve. They’ll be closed by the time we even make it to the door.”

Amanda exhaled a dejected sigh. “You’re right. Let’s just… let’s go home.”

The duo started to leave but the man stopped them. “Whoa! You’re not leaving are you?”

“What’s it to you if we are?”

“I’m sorry. I mean no disrespect, but my friends and I are thinking of hitting another club. You two seem really interesting so I thought I’d invite you.”

For the first time since they first spoke, Amanda studied the man. He was handsome in the streetlights. His long brown hair was kept in a tidy bun; he had a bit of stubble that drew attention to his pouty lips; his Henley shirt displayed his thick physique. Amanda had to admit he was kinda cute. But “kinda cute” did not equal “trustworthy.” “I don’t know, dude. I don’t really know you. I mean, how do I know this isn’t a set up?”

“’A set up?’”

“Yeah, you know. You ask us to hang out and a week from now they find our naked bodies in a ravine or some shit.”

“Well, I try not to judge other people’s kinks but if you and your friend want to go frolicking naked in the ravine that’s none of my business.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know. And, all jokes aside, I understand where you’re coming from. How about this?” He extended his hand. “I never formally introduced myself. My nae is Sebastian.”

Amanda eyed his offered hand, then looked at Patricia, then back to the man. There’s no harm in a simple introduction, right? She shook his hand. “Amanda. This is Patricia.”

Seb shook both women’s hands then asked, “Now that we’ve been formally introduced, would you lovely ladies like to join me and my friends in a night of revelry?”

Amanda chuckled at his formality. “What does this ‘night of revelry’ include?”

“Oh the usual. Eating, dancing, drinking, maybe some karaoke–my friend Sally _loves_  the stuff, a little light mischief…”

“Oh? And what does this light mischief entail?”

“Pantsing the mascot in front of Herbie’s Chicken.”

Amanda let out a loud laugh. “Oh my god. Are you serious? Can that thing even be pantsed?”

Sebastian scratched his beard as he pondered an answer. “I don’t know… But I’ve been curious ever since I moved here when I was ten. Tonight I face my destiny! Tonight I learn the truth!”

Amanda laughed again. “That actually sounds kinda fun.”

“It’s a helluva lot better than standing in line for the rest of the night,” Patricia agreed.

“Alright! She’s in.” Sebastian turned to Amanda. “Now what about you?”

What did she have to lose? She hadn’t had silly fun like this in a while. Plus her other plans were shot to hell anyway. “Sure,” Amanda agreed reluctantly.

“Yes! Do you guys have transportation?”

“Yeah,” Patricia answered. “I drove.”

“Excellent. Do you have a pen?” he asked Amanda. She shook her head no but Patricia dug into her purse and provided him one. “Hold out your hand please.” Amanda raised a brow but conceded to his request. Sebastian immediately began writing something in her palm. “The gang will meet you at O’Connor’s in about ten minutes.”

Thinking he was writing out instructions, Amanda informed him: “Oh we’re from here. We know how to get to O’Connor’s. You don’t have to write it down for us.”

“Good because I wasn’t.” He released her hand and she saw the seven digits of his number in it.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“My number. So you guys can reach us if you get there ahead of us.”

“Oh.”

“But also you should keep it in handy for emergency purposes.”

“Emergencies?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know, if you’re ever bored on a Friday or Saturday night and need someone to take you out to dinner and a movie. Things like that.”

“Oh?” Amanda replied with a smirk. She admired his boldness. “Gimme that pen.” She flipped over his hand and wrote her own digits down in it. “It’s only fair that we should be each other’s emergency contact, right? We wouldn’t want too many of those bored and lonely weeknights.”

“No, we do not,” Sebastian said under his breath as he read over her number.

“See you in ten, Sebastian.” Amanda seductively cooed the farewell before turning and sauntering off. Her feet were killing her and she would have to change into a pair of flats she stored in the car, but now she walked with all confidence and sexuality. She wanted to make sure that the image of her toned ass walking away would be seared into his brain. She paused and turned back to see if he was watching. Sebastian stood enthralled; his eyes danced up the curves of her body before landing on hers. He shot her a sly smile. He knew that walk was nothing short of performance art and he was definitely enjoying the show. He shot her a wink; she returned it before the pair continued on with their separate groups.

 


	6. Prompt 6: Sam Wilson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is meh b/c I didn't know how to end it (and tbh it was getting really long so I just said fuck it) but the rest of it was really fun to write so yay me! lol

Prompt: Some 90's high school R&B club Sam Wilson

* * *

 

Mid-March, 1996

Sam impatiently tapped his pencil against the paper in his binder. Class was nearing an end but his history teacher, Mr. Radcliffe, affectionately nicknamed Mr. Rat, was still droning on about World War II. He was one of those teachers that believed every minute of class time had to be filled. Who cared that it was 2:59 on a Thursday before a three-day weekend? Who cared that the student body had already spent thirty-two hours this week trapped in school? Who cared that they spent even more hours _outside_ the building on homework, extra credit assignments, papers, and senseless projects? No, Mr. Rat just _had_ to make sure he sucked the life out of them even down to the wire.

Sam looked at his watch again. Still 2:59! It seemed time had frozen in the horror of this course. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Listening to his dull teacher drone on about some American hero and his command unit. He unintentionally let out his exasperation in a loud groan. The sound of it sent the class into various tittering laughs.

“Am I boring you, Mr. Wilson?” Mr. Rat’s stern tone asked as he peeked over his large, wire-rimmed glasses.

“Oh, uh… I…” Thankfully the final bell rang and spared him from further humiliation and punishment. Sam sprung up from his desk and followed his fellow classmates out the door. He stopped by his locker to grab his books. A few of his teachers went extra hard on the weekend homework. They demanded it be turned in the moment the period started; no late exceptions. Normally he would be upset–it would likely hit him tomorrow afternoon when he would be forced to read Macbeth in its entirety before hammering out a three page essay for Mrs. Evers–but for now he was excited.

School never interested Sam. He was smarter than most of his classmates (and a few teachers) and the lessons never really challenged him much. He would always find some new subject that fascinated him, he’d read several chapters ahead to quench his thirst for knowledge about it, then be forced to sit several weeks waiting for everyone else to catch up. By then his interest would have waned resulting in him spending the rest of the period counting down the clock. The only thing that held his intrigue was the extracurricular activities. 

Sam was a very social person and would often find himself involved with more than one after school club. His current favorite was the R&B Club he co-founded with his best friend, Riley. The Club would meet after school twice a week to appreciate old school and modern R&B. Often their staff sponsor, Mr. Tate, would give them assignments such as locating similarities between different genres, songs, or artists based on lyricism, sampling & interpolation, influence, or production. Although sometimes it would just be the few of them kicking back and listening to the latest CD of some popular artist. Today, though, the group would be preparing for next week’s talent show.

A hard slap on the back lunged Sam forward. He turned to see Riley standing behind him with a smile. “Riles!”

“Sam I Am! You ready for Mr. Tate to show us his fly moves?”

“Oh god,” Sam said with a playful groan. Mr. Tate had _suggested–_ here meaning, “coaxed until the kids had no option but to accept”–that he be the one to choreograph their number for the show. For all intent and purposes, Mr. Tate was a really nice man. Kind, understanding, and, on a few rare occasions, one might even dare to say cool. But for the most part, the man was, well, a duck. A term Riley used to describe whenever Mr. Tate’s uncoolness became overbearing. “Do you think he’ll try to do that damn disco move again?”

“Was that supposed to be disco? I thought he was doing some country line dancing.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, whatever it was, it was awful. I still have nightmares about it.”

“Your sister should choreograph us. How many dance titles has she won?”

“Like fifteen.” Sam grunted as he pulled out the last book from his locker and tried to shove it into his overstuffed bookbag.

“Damn, son. You carrying every book in the school!”

“Who you telling?” He continued to attempt to squeeze the large book into his bag but to no avail. Finally frustrated, he swore then tossed the book on the ground. Riley picked it up for him.

“Lemme guess… Evers got homework happy again?”

“Yep,” Sam answered as he lifted his bag with a grunt. When it was decided to be too heavy to properly carry, he dropped it back on the ground and dragged it along. 

Riley sucked his teeth at the sight. “It’s a goddamn shame. She still nagging you about college?”

“Yeah. Her and my folks. Boy, you should’ve seen the look on my mom’s face when I told her I was considering joining the army instead of college.”

“I can imagine it.” Riley shook his head. “I still don’t understand why a bright kid like you don’t want to go to college.”

“I never said I didn’t. I just… Man, can we not talk about it now?”

“Yeah, man. Sure. But first lemme just say…” Sam exhaled an annoyed groan but Riley only laughed at it before continuing: “Lemme just say that if your genius ass actually goes into the army, I’m joining you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because someone has to look out for you, Sam I Am.” Though he would never tell him to his face, Riley often thought that for all of Sam’s smarts he could be really dumb sometimes. Sam was the kind of guy that would put himself in danger to save a friend. There was no doubt in his mind, that his best buddy would risk running through enemy fire to help a fallen comrade. At least with him there, Riley could act as the voice of reason to Sam’s knee-jerk reactions. Keep him alive so Mama Wilson wouldn’t have to bury another child.

The pair entered the designated classroom for their club. Mr. Tate was already inside along with a few other members. They were busy pushing aside the desks to create a makeshift stage on the floor. Sam and Riley greeted them before helping them clear the area. 

“There!” Mr. Tate exclaimed with a gleeful slap of his palms. “That should be room enough.” He turned to the club. “Last night I was up late coming up with the best moves for you guys.” Sam and Riley exchanged glances; one of the other students saw them and giggled. Mr. Tate didn’t hear it because he was occupied with digging through his CD collection. “Ah yes! Here it is! You guys are going to love it.”

“I really doubt it,” Riley whispered under his breath.

Mr. Tate popped in the CD and hit play. Immediately the percussion intro for Bell Biv Devoe’s “Poison” started to play. Mr. Tate bopped along to the beat then broke into an awkward shuffle followed by a kick, a shimmy, another bop, some poor man’s B-boy floor spin, then another shuffle. 

The group of teenagers looked on at the display in shock and embarrassment. Poor Mr. Tate. He really thought he had the groove. Unfortunately, it looked like he was experiencing the worst seizure known to man. 

After another minute of off-beat hopping and sliding, Riley yelled out, “No! Nope!” then shut the music off. He turned to Sam and added, “See? Duck!”

Sam’s eyes widened at his friends boldness but he also bit back a laugh. “What’s that mean?” Mr. Tate questioned. “What’s a duck?”

“N-nothing,” Sam answered. “What Riles meant to say was… uh…” He paused to ponder over his words. Dancing aside, he really liked Mr. Tate and didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “He meant… those moves, as nice as they are, Mr. T, might not… really… fit this song.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. See you’re bringing… _that_  to a New Jack Swing song. We need less… that… and more… Kid n Play.”

“Awww shit!” Riley exclaimed. “That’s what’s up!”

“What’s a ‘kid and play’?” Mr. Tate asked.

“Not ‘what,’ Mr. T,” Sam replied. “ _Who_. You ever seen House Party?” The man shook his head. “Well you need to go over to Blockbusters and rent it immediately.”

“Sam, let’s show him,” Riley said with a broad smile. 

Sam returned it. “Hell yeah! Gina, you got the music?” A short, chubby dark skinned girl smiled and nodded. “Okay, now, Mr. T, it won’t work so well with this song but it should still give you a feel for what we’re talking about. Gina.” She hit the music and the two pals broke out into the iconic dance number.

They were right, the moves didn’t hit the same beat without Full Force’s “Ain’t My Type of Hype” but it was miles better than anything Mr. Tate attempted. The two bounced from side to side in unison, hit a perfect spin, then stepped forward and back. With each forward step they hit the side’s of the other’s sneakers before hooking their shoes and bouncing in a circle. They didn’t land as perfectly as either wanted but they were having too much fun to care. The rest of the group whooped and cheered them on. With their mates encouragement, they continued on with the number. They rotated between feet as they touched sneakers again: side to side three times, then toes, a small spin, then another tap of the heels. 

Mr. Tate watched in awe as the two young boys danced throughout the song. They had forgotten the rest of the moves so they improvised. The group's cheers brought out their attention hogs. They slapped palms, bounced in time, slide across the room, spun. Riley fell into a slip then bounce back to his feet with ease. Sam dropped back onto the floor and nearly perfectly executed the B-boy spin move Mr. Tate failed at earlier.

When the song finished the club cheered the two boys. Mr. Tate stood in awe. “Phenomenal, boys! Phenomenal! _That_  is what we should do at the talent show. Or something like it.”

“I’m saying!” Riley agreed between light pants. “But that’s too sloppy. If we want to win we gotta be better, tighter.”

“Well, we need someone with better skills than mine to teach you guys.”

Riley was so glad that the man was reasonable enough to know when he failed at something. “Well, Mr. T, if no one else wants to do it, Sam’s younger sister is an award winning dancer.” He slapped his friend on the back. “I’m sure she’ll love to help us.”

“Sam, do you think you could possibly talk to her for us? That is,” Mr. Tate looked around the room at the other students, “if no one else wants to step up?” The others unanimously declined the offer. Even if one or two might’ve dreamed of someday becoming renowned dancers, they didn’t have the courage to step up now. This entire talent show thing was _his_  idea, after all. It was bad enough they were forced to participate in it. They didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of the entire school in case their moves weren’t good enough or if the rest of the club wasn’t coordinated enough. “Well, that’s that then!” Mr. Tate exclaimed. “Sam’ll talk to his sister. Nothing too complicated though, Sam, okay? We only have a week.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll talk to her as soon as I get home.”

“Attaboy! Now on to today’s presentation. Who’s up?”

“I am!” Sam said.

“Great. Now what musical genius do you have for us this time.”

Sam reached into the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out a CD. “Janet Jackson’s _janet_.” The club let out a loud groan.

“Not again!” one whined.

“Hey! This is one of the most important albums of our generation. Second only to Marvin Gaye’s _Trouble Man._ ”

“Oh my god, man! What the hell kind of comparison is that?” Riley asked. 

“An honest one.”

“Nah, you only say that because you want to marry Janet.”

“I do. I really do,” Sam agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still the greatest album to come out in the last two years.”

“So I take it you’re not including ‘Pac in this bullshit?”

“Language!” Mr. Tate scolded. 

“Sorry. But so ‘Pac’s excluded, right?”

“Nah. My statement stands including ‘Pac _and_  Biggie!” 

Part of the club let out another collective groan; another part disrupted into an argument about the two rappers. Sam stood adamant in his statement, arguing with anyone who dare defy him. Riley tried to shoehorn in the importance of Lil Kim only to be dismissed by another club member with the same argument that he used against Sam. More lively debates ensued. Mr. Tate reclined back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and bit back a laugh as he proudly watched over the scene. 


	7. Prompt 7: Sebastian Stan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't actually a prompt but rather a part of a conversation that my dear friend JazzyTee and I had that I decided to share here.

Prompt:

 _He’s that motherfucker in high school_  
_Who you knew were a bit of a douche_  
_But you low key wanted to fuck anyway_

Based off these images:

 

* * *

 

b/c you heard the dick was too bomb  
and every girl he fucked/fucked over was bragging on that shit  
talmbout “shieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! i’d let him break my heart again for that nut”  
and you were like “i shouldn’t like this piece of shit. but i’d let him slide in between. give me that creamy goodness na'mean?”  
you say that to your girls in private but there’s always that messy one. that one that lowkey don’t like you anyway. so she tell his boys  
and they, of course, tell him

but he’s never checked for you before that  
you never was on his radar and shit  
but now he’s all up in yo face  
thinking he gon add another to his number  
and now you fucked b/c you really all talk  
and he’s serious business™ about that pussy  
so now you gotta decide if you gon give him the V or not  
and your head is like “hoe don’t do it”  
but your pussy is like “oh my god”  
so you agree to go out with him figuring that his behavior will be your ultimate deciding factor

he act too much a dick you ain’t sitting on his  
but he take you out to a nice restaurant and a movie you’ve been dying to see and he’s a gentleman  
opening doors and shit. laughing and flirting. respecting you  
got your guard falling and shit  
you dumb as hell rn  
you buying that game like it was made for you  
he’s saying and doing all the right thing  
he already got that condom in his pocket  
he’s already thinking getting in that ass (literally)  
and yo stupid self over here giggling over your water at some dumb ass joke

the date is drawing to an end but neither of yall wanna go home  
you say you got curfew. you come home late that’s your ass  
he gives you that look. that puppy dog, sweet baby look  
he begging not to leave yet b/c he enjoy your company so much  
he take yall someplace to “just chill”  
yall talk some more  
then he lean over to kiss you  
and that’s it. that’s yo ass  
his hands move up your thigh and next thing you know you giving it up in the back seat of his pop’s rusty ass chevy  
you ain’t even know what happpened

he leave yo ass dazed and confused  
he take you home an hour after curfew  
yo pops is mad as fuck  
he yelling and screaming  
yo mama tryna calm him down but she lowkey pissed af too  
you ain’t even hearing them tho  
you too busy thinking about that dick  
you highkey upset with yourself for giving in too soon but lowkey can’t wait to get some more

you go to school on monday and don’t tell your friends shit b/c you can’t trust them. you still don’t know which hoe snitched on you  
but they looking at yo ass like they KNOW  
“you look different” one says  
you thinking “bitch! i got the fucking of my young life” but you say “i got some good sleep last night”  
which is true b/c that dih put you out like a L I G H T!  
meanwhile seb out here talking about you to his friends  
telling them how he was all up in that thing  
how you were moaning and shit  
by lunchtime errbody and they mama know yall fucking  
you pissed, your friends pissed cause you ain’t tell them, his many exes pissed b/c he dropped they asses for you  
now you got no good niggas coming up to you in the hallway like “i got next”

you bout ready to curb stomp niggas at this point  
you find seb and telling his ass off in front of everybody  
he just laugh and pull you to the side  
start saying some sweet shit low in your ear  
you still mad but your pussy quivering  
that hoe ain’t loyal  
he talmbout how sorry he is and his niggas ain’t got no manners and how yall should definitely hook up again  
and your mind is telling you noooooooooo but your body! your body is telling you yesssssssssssssss  
but you grounded for life rn so you can’t do shit  
and he like “nah, fam, haha. it’s cool. i’ll just come over when your folks out. when they at church and shit”

and yo dick dumb ass say “okay”  
and wednesday rolls around and yo pappy and mammy off to church and you fake a stomach ache so you can stay home  
and they ain’t even gone five minutes before that nigga roll around  
he climb up into your window and beat the brakes offa that ass  
put that ass in all kinds of positions  
he brought a pack of condoms and means to use every one

even tho yo parents only gone be gone a couple of hours  
he showers, eats your food, and leaves  
you in a sex daze  
you shower and pass out in bed  
your folk come home and check on you  
yo dumb ass was too tired to clean up the room

they find a condom wrapper on the floor  
now your pops is BIG MAD

your ma is disappointed  
they calling you a lil hoe and shit  
he talmbout putting yo fast ass out his house  
she gotta calm him down (again) b/c he doing wayyyy too much rn  
she say yall should go to counseling

and yall do and the therapist is like “jasmine, what’s wrong? why are you behaving like this?”  
and you just look at her and your folks, shrug, and say “DICK TOO BOMB!” before pussy popping  
they hella shocked and shit. “what happened to our little girl???”  
but you don’t care b/c you already got another sex date with seb lined up

but yo pops sends you up north to go live with your strict ass aunt  
she gone break you of you hoetivities  
or so she think  
seb got folk up there too  
he find out from a cousin you up there  
he come visit for spring break  
he got hooked on that puss puss  
he sniffing for it like a goddamn hound dog  
yall meet up

and he straight wrecks yo shit  
yall fuck nonstop all week  
yo aunt finds out and tells your parents  
they hop on the first plane out  
they talmbout sending yo ass to military school cause you aint got no discipline  
you tell them ain’t nothing gonna keep you from seb! nothing!  
you run away to his aunt’s house  
he still there. plane bout to leave in a few hours  
you tell him what’s up  
he’s like “nah, fam, haha. not my baby”

yall run away together  
yall go where yall ain’t got no kinfolk  
yall living on the streets broke as shit but yall got hood love so yall good  
you get pregnant a year later  
you ain’t got a good job. seb can’t do shit but dick  
that baby gon have a bad life  
you regret all yo decisions  
you know you gotta go back to yo fam for help  
you swallow yo pride and return home with a baby in your arms  
your fam is mad disappointed but they love you so they let you come back home

seb follow that ass  
he can’t let you go. he want to get married. he want yall to be the real deal™  
you tell him that he gotta step his life up.  
you can’t be the same place you were before  
you gon need more than good dick  
he crying, nose snotting up, b/c that’s all he is  
he leave and say he gon make something of himself, make you & that baby proud  
you don’t see him for three years

he come back one day finer than ever  
say he got a job as a mechanic. got his GED and shit  
ready to do right by you know  
and you a loyal lil bitch so you ain’t been with nobody but him b/c you were really hoping he’d succeed  
and you mad proud of him

so yall get married  
in a lil ceremony at your parents church  
yall still broke as shit b/c you just doing office work but yall live with yo parents and save up for yall own place  
and you love it b/c your parents are good with the baby  
it’s so-so for them b/c every single night seb be running through you and the walls thin as fuck so they gotta hear their little girl get done in

yo pops hear you call seb “daddy” and say some straight nasty ass shit about “cumming on this ass” and he shed a tear  
yo mom’s mad jealous b/c yo dad don’t fuck her like that no more  
but alls good in the end

THE END.


	8. Prompt 8: Chadwick Boseman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't technically a prompt rather an ask sent to me based off a my tags under a post on my tumblr.

Prompt: "That picture!! What subject would he teach? I'm getting like history. He seems like the type of professor that'll write cute/flirty comments on your homework when he turns it back in."

Based on this pic: 

* * *

 

Imagine having to meet him in his office about an assignment and you get that one-on-one time with him and you fuck up and get a crush on him. I mean you fall for this dude HARD. So hard that you end up changing your major just so you can have reason to take more classes with him. 

You get a work-study job in his department. You like, “I need to chill… I’m doing way too much rn.” but then he coming into the office with that smile that melts your heart and he smells good as fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! 

And one day he invites you to have lunch with him b/c he lowkey thinks it’s a little sad how you have lunch alone at your desk and shit. 

And yall chat and you get to know him a little better and now your ass went from crush to full on in love with this dude and you’re sure he doesn’t even really notice you. I mean, he always talks to you with utmost respect and shit but you’re just another face in the crowd. 

Until one day, before a long weekend or some shit, it’s raining, you waiting outside huddled under the arch of the building. 

You ain’t got no car so you gotta walk to the bus stop but you didn’t know it was going to rain so you don’t have on sensible shoes (them flats gon have yo ass slipping and sliding–trust!) or a jacket or umbrella. Now you just debating on going back inside and chilling in one of the labs in hopes that it’ll calm down so you can catch a later bus. 

He come outside and sees you. Offers you a ride. You recline outta politeness (you don’t want to put him out) but he says it’s no big thing. You tell him where you live, he says he’s going round that way anyway. He won’t take no for an answer. You really don’t wanna deal with the weather and shit so you accept. 

He gives you his umbrella, he walks in the rain, it’s pouring down, soaking his clothes and shit. You can make out his body and shit. He waaaay too fine to be a history teacher. My dude looks like a fucking GOD okay? 

Yall get in his car, he turn the heat on so yall can warm up a bit, but it’s bad for you. Real bad. B/c all you can smell is his cologne. He take off. Turn the radio on to some old skool channel, start singing along with Stevie, Teddy, and nem. He done fucked up! 

You wetter than a fucking ocean rn. You just wanna pull this car over and suck all the life’s knowledge outta him through his dick.

You tryna be cool but you legit moaned a little when he started in on some Donnie Hathaway. You pray to all the old gods and the new that he ain’t hear you. 

He did.

Now he sitting quiet and shit b/c yo horny ass done made everything awkward. You gotta drop all his classes and quit your job b/c otherwise every time he looks at you he gon hear that pathetic ass moan.

He pull up to your apartment. You want to apologize but you don’t know what to say. (How DOES one say: Sorry for getting off to your singing, my dude!) You just thank him instead and get out the car.

He tell you to hold up b/c it’s still pouring down. He grab his umbrella and walk you to your door. Some old school gentlemanly shit. You mentally start hating every nigga you ever done fucked with before you met him. They wouldn’t even let you supersize your fry at Micky D’s but this nigga out here getting soaked TWICE just to comfort you. He’s so nice. You wanna make him dinner. You wanna massage his scalp. You wanna sit on his face.

Anyway so he walk you to your door. Yall stand there for a moment while you search for your keys. He makes you nervous. He’s looking at you looking for them and you kinda wanna ask him to not but–dammit!–you like it lbr.

You finally find your key. Your nervous ass shakes and drops them. Yall both reach down to grab them. Yall hands touch. You about to cum all over yourself. You really need to get inside and calm the fuck down.

He grabs them for you, gently places them in your hand. Yall skin touches again. And my god you want him even more now. 

But what you DON’T know is… he with it.

He’s been eyeing that ass for a minute too but he don’t wanna overstep on boundaries. Abuse his position and shit. But then yo ass went and moaned. Got even further into his head.

See he thought he had just imagined it. He was like “I gotta get her home. I’ma fuck around and lose my job.”

But then yall touched. Twice. And now he’s kinda thinking “Fuck it.” He’s gotta know. Just one kiss and that’ll be it right?

One kiss and yall’ll see how wrong all this is and put it behind yall, right?

He stupid as fuck too apparently.

B/c the moment yall do that, the moment yall lips touch… That was fucking it.

He had that ass pressed all up against your door and shit. Kissing you like a fucking man that knows what he’s doing. Your exes should all be ashamed tbh. 

He’s holding you close, pressing that glorious ass body against yours. Goddamn he’s so solid! You wanna feel that pressure on top of you ASAP.

Now you got nerves of steal. You got them keys gripped tighter than a muhfuck. You open the door and lead him inside.

Yall kiss some more, parting only to undress. Yall leave a trail of clothes on the floor. Yall get into your bedroom and you flip the light on. You wanna see all that body, na’mean?

And it. is. GLORIOUS! 

You stop and thank all the gods for creating something so beautiful.

You don’t even get to soak all of him in before he buries his face in that pwssy. He eating that shit up. Gobbling down on it. Eating it like it’s his last meal. Savoring every bit of it. You swear you see Jesus, Pac, & Biggie when you cum. They all smile and give you the thumbs up. They approve of this dicking you finna get.

Except you ain’t got no condoms b/c you ain’t seen no paaaaaaaaaaaaarts of a dick in like a year. Yo shit was near dried up b/c Prof. Boseman came into your life. 

He say it’s cool. He got some in his pants. B/c OF COURSE he do! Of course he be getting it in on the regular. LOOK. AT. HIM.

He come back, put it on, and slide right in that sweet puss puss. He straight WRECKS yo shit. Got you screaming his name. Your neighbors don’t even know you but they know Professor Boseman! 

He got that ass in all kinds of positions. He flips you on top and you think you about to ride him but nah fam haha. You got this here fucked up. He pins you to him and starts fucking that pussy up. He moaning in your ear as he’s stroking up into you, you crying like a lil bitch on his shoulder. Honestly you never thought life would be this good. Way up you feel blessed right now.

Before you were in love with him now you in love with that dick. You wanna marry that dick. Birth that dick 50-11 babies. Die and be buried next to that dick. It’s serious af rn.

When you cum you see Jesus and nem again but also all your ancestors from the way back. They applauding you and shit. They so proud of you. Truly this is your greatest achievement. You high five them all, pussy pop, then descend back to earth. 

When you come back he mumbling something about “appropriateness” but you can’t ask him shit b/c he gone so fast. Grabbed his clothes and shit, out the door like Sonic the Muhfuckin Hedgehog. He leave yo ass dazed. You not sure if you dreamed that or not.

You mourn that dick the entire weekend. When you go back to school, you go to his office, yall avoiding each other and shit. You not sure if he’s being weird b/c YOU’RE being weird or what. B/c you still not sure if that fucking of a lifetime actually happened or nah.

The day’s nearly done. Yall haven’t spoken much to each other. You go into his office to have him sign off on something. You bout to leave but he tell you to close the door. You do. 

Then he get up and apologize for running out on you the other day. He wanted to call you but he don’t have your number and he didn’t want to send an email through the school server and shit.

He say he can’t stop thinking about you. You got his nose W I D E O P E N and shit. He say he wanna see you again but yall gotta keep it on the DL for obvious reasons.

You just glad you ain’t made the whole thing up. You say you cool wit it. You buss it open for him on his desk. He wrecks your shit yet again. Got you face down on some ungraded tests while he smacking that ass. His tie in yo mouth b/c you can’t be quiet for shit. And you are loving every minute of it!

You getting all your life and the next one.

Yall fuck on the regular for a year. You graduate. He proposes. You say “Hell fucking yes!” b/c wtf you look like turning all that good good down, na’mean?

Yall get married in a small church wedding. You looking banging in your white dress, he fly as shit in his tux. Yall settle down and have three babies: two twin girls and a little boy. He gets tenure, you at the top of your field. Even yo enemies gotta show respect b/c you The Boss Bitch™. You running stuff and thangs. Life is good as shit. You die the happiest bitch on earth. THE END.


	9. Prompt 9: Chadwick Boseman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another silly little prompt.

Prompt: "I also imagine another scenario where he still a teacher and your new teacher who just got hired by the school and he's that same asshole. Like you described. He always takes the last of the coffee in the mug, or always eat your yogurt with cute little note saying he'll pay you back next time or get strawberry next time it's his favorite. And he's just doing that as his way of sort of hazing and flirting with you because you're the new kid on the block so to speak."

 

* * *

 

He eating yo shit messing with you b/c he think you cute. And lbr he like fucking with folk b/c he’s a lil bit of an asshole. But so are you. 

You find out he’s been the one messing with your shit from one of yall coworkers. You like “Okay. Cool. Cool.” b/c you got something for that ass. Two can play that game. 

He come into the teacher’s lounge bout to get his lunch but it’s gone. Inside is a note that says “Next time, less mayo.” You ain’t even really eat it tho. It’s ham and you don’t fuck with pork. You threw it away. You just wrote that note to be a bitter bitch.

You think he finna get pissed and shit but he just laugh and go buy another one.

You slacking, homie. You gotta step yo game up.

The next time you see him, he going for the coffee you grab it first and pour a cup the pour the rest of it down the drain. You so fucking petty you don’t even most care that everybody else gon be pissed af with you. This ain’t about them, it’s about HIM. 

He still ain’t bothered. He say “I need to cut down on my caffeine anyway.”

You fucking LIVID. You about to go Jack the Ripper on this nigga. He laugh and walk away.

Yall continue to fuck with each other for like an entire semester. He steal your food, your stapler, rearranges shit on your desk. You write “Boseman sux” in permanent marker on his white board, switch his sugar with salt, sign him up for after-school supervisor duties for the drama club. (He hates the drama club; none of them kids can act worth a shit!)

Yall keep tryna one up each other every time. It’s become a thing with yall. Yall don’t even do it outta malice anymore. It’s fun now. Yall try to pull other teachers in and shit but they decline. They highkey hate both yall. They wish yall stop. It’s bad enough worrying about these bad ass kids now they gotta deal with yall asses too? They legit don’t get paid enough.

Yall call a truce, join forces, and gang up on them. Together yall unstoppable. The Asshole Duo. Yall a topic of contention at the next staff meeting. Since yall not doing anything illegal the principal can’t really do much but ask yall to stop. Yall say “Fuck that nigga!” and keep going. One teacher quits. Another threatens to beat yall asses. Yall tell him if he feeling froggy then leap, ho. He doesn’t.

Yall fuck around and become friends. It’s the worst possible thing for yall coworkers but yall work together so well. Yall chill at the Christmas party. Yall get drunk. Yall fuck. Yall regret it. 

“Never gon happen again,” yall both say.

Yall some goddamn liars.

Yall meet up after the break but things ain’t the same. Too much tension there. Yall can’t even prank yall coworkers no more. They glad as shit too but now they gotta see yall be all awkward with each other. Pretending like yall don’t like each other. It’s somehow worst.

One of them yells out “Just go out already!”

Yall do. Yall get along great as shit. All laughing and shit. Chilling like yall long time BFFS. Yall start dating.

Now yall all up in the teacher’s lounge making googly eyes at each other. Calling each other lil pet names. Rubbing noses and kissing and shit. Leaving each other cards and surprises on each other’s desk. Flirting in front of the staff and students. 

It grosses everyone the fuck out. Nobody likes it. They want it to stop.

They try to break yall up. Turns out it was better when yall hated each other. Who knew?

They sending fake letters and emails and shit to yall saying it’s from the other. It’s bad. So awful. So lazy. Yall know each other’s style already and shit. Who they think they gaming.

You let them know they fucked up so very badly but you’ll let it slide if they come to yall wedding. 

They decline.

“That’ll be even WORSE punishment,” they say.

Yall don’t really care b/c yall didn’t want them there anyway. Yall still fuck with them do. Yall let the air outta their tires one morning so by the end of the day they all on flats. Yall laugh as they stand around pissed as fuck. They demand the principal fire both yall. He just want to be left alone. He don’t want to get involved.

He a real punk ass bitch and they tell him so.

They so pissed at yall one nigga start talmbout straight killing yall. They so far gone in their anger no one objects. Again yall tell them hoes if they wit it yall can do this. Neither one of yall afraid to catch a case. But they are so they let it go. They hate yall so fucking much. Two more teachers quit. The principal starts drinking again after 11 years.

Yall get married in a private ceremony. Yall call it that in truth ain’t nobody would come even if yall wanted them too. B/c again, EVERYBODY hate yall.

Yall get married and live a life of petty bliss. Yall like the Robinsons from Gumball. So mean only yall can stand each other. Yall have kids and, bless their little hearts, they turn out decent b/c they don’t wanna end up like yall. Yall don’t care b/c yall got asshole love. Yall each other’s ride or die. 

Speaking of die…

When yall croak, nobody but yall kids come to the funeral. They’re not surprised or disappointed by it, b/c frfr that’s how yall would’ve wanted it anyway. Yall spend yall next lives as tsetse flies. THE END.


	10. Prompt 10: Chadwick Boseman

Prompt: "Everyone is at the staff development meeting and he wants lead and ends up taking the last available seat next to you and he's cracking jokes in your ear and you start giggling getting you in trouble with the boss."

* * *

 

“Is there something funny about these case files, Miss?” your boss sternly asks looking over his black rimmed glasses.

“N-no, sir,” you stutter out. You clear your throat and readjust in your seat. Your boss continues on with the meeting.

A minute barely passes before Chadwick leans over again and mimics him perfectly: “Is there something funny about these reports? Do they amuse you? Am I a clown?”

You laugh louder this time attracting your boss’ attention again. “Well… if you both want to act like children, then perhaps I’ll treat you like them. Both of you out!”

“B-but, Mr. Hendricks, I–”

“Leave! Go to your offices. I’ll discuss this with you later!”

You pack up your things and leave the room. Your head hangs low in embarrassment and shame. You get two feet down the hall when Chadwick catches up to you. “Why so serious?”

You stop short. He looks at you with that charming smile of his. But this time it doesn’t work. You’re upset. “How can you not be taking this seriously?! You got me in trouble!”

“Oh, c’mon, girl.” His southern accents slips out making is words sound soft and sweet. “It won’t be so bad. I promise.”

“You promise?” You scoff at his words. “Chadwick… Listen… I can’t afford to mess up here, okay? I have student loans and medical bills coming out the ass. I need this job, okay?”

His face softens into seriousness. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I know you do. I’m sorry. I’ll tell him it was all me, since, ya know, it was. That way you won’t get any blame or have to worry about the consequences. You’re new here but I’ve been in this hellhole for five years. I doubt he’ll get rid of me.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

He shrugs. “Then I’ll find a new job.”

“You really think it’s that simple?”

“Nah. Nothing ever is. But you know my motto. ‘Welcome change.’” He wraps his arms around your shoulder. You both continue shuffling down the hall. “Besides if the worsts happens, I’m good. I have my savings that’ll keep me going for a while. If I don’t find a better job–which, c’mon, would be IMPOSSIBLE! I mean look at this place! BUT if I don’t, then I’ll go back to finish up my second degree. Open up a whole new world of possibilities.” You stop in front of your office door. “Don’t worry about me, girl. I’ll be fine.”

“I guess… but if all that doesn’t work out, you’re not sleeping on my couch again.” That was your way of reassuring him that you’d be there for him if things did go south. 

“Aww…” He pulls you close and kisses the top of your forehead. “Who’s a cute lil liar?”

“Chadwick! Let me go! We’re at work!”

“So? We’re already in trouble! Plus no one’s out here!” He begins to rub his knuckles in the top of your hair.

“Oh my god, dude! Not the hair!” You smack his arm but he won’t release his grip. He’s too busy laughing at his mischief. “I hate you so damn much, dude!”

“More lies! Who’s my best friend in the world?”

“I don’t know… some other broad!” You continue to wrestle out of his death grip.

“Who’s the love of my life?”

“DEFINITELY some other broad!”

He laughs and finally releases you. When he does you pop him repeated on the arm. “I hate you so much! Why must you act perpetually 12?!”

“I can’t help it. You bring out the best in me.”

“God… that’s the most awful thing you’ve ever said to me,” you joke.

He laughs at it then opens his arms for a genuine embrace. You enter it and lean your head against his chest. “Seriously, though, don’t worry about me or anything. Just focus on doing the best here. It won’t be so awful for you.” You pull out of the hug and thank him. He tweaks your nose in response. “Who’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me?” he questions with that sweet smile of his.

“Oh, now, THAT would be me,” you reply.

“Damn right.”


	11. Prompt 11: Chadwick Boseman

Prompt: "He offers to help you grade papers in your office after work even though he knows nothing about the subject you teach."

* * *

 

He’s a teacher’s assistant. But sometimes he’s more trouble than help. He means well, you know this, but… well, the boy is a klutz. The king of them. There was the time he accidentally dropped all your papers and you both had to spend hours re-sorting them. Then there was the time when he brought you coffee and spilled it all over the essay you were grading. Not to mention when he somehow managed to staple his tie to your fourth period tests. The boy was a mess.

But as the idiom goes: beggars can’t be choosers. And you were certainly begging for some help. After your divorce, you found it hard to keep up with your workload. Your focus was always diverted to some personal matter. (Your ex-husband couldn’t just split the assets down the middle!) Work was steadily becoming a hassle and a half. When Chadwick came into your office that morning months ago you swore you heard a heavenly chorus.

Despite all the missteps and mistakes, he was actually a relief. You got through your work in half the time. But now you had midterms to grade. Those always took most of your energy and attention. Even with the extra help.

Essay questions. That was the devil eating into your late night. Your department required that all English Lit tests have an essay section. Midterms and finals, unfortunately, had to be either half or majority essay. (It had something to do with some dumb new rule the higher ups got together to enforce on the student and teacher population. Why should they care? It’s not their time and energy being wasted!)

Now you were stuck spending yet another Friday evening trying to comprehend your student’s mostly B.S.’d answers in their often indecipherable handwriting. “Tea?” Chadwick asked before carefully placing a cup down on your desk. Paper cup, covered, far away from the unread stack in front of you. See? At least the man LEARNS.

“Thank you,” you say as you attempt to rub out the building tension sitting in your neck.

“I can get that for you.”

“What?”

“Your neck. I’ve been told I’m really good with my hands. I can rub it out for you. If it’s no bother.”

You were way too tired to turn down such an offer. You consent with a nod of your head. The moment he puts his warm hand on your neck you feel your body relaxing. “Mr. Boseman, you, sir, are The King of the massage.”

He chuckles. “Thanks. My girl–” he cleared his throat, “my EX-girlfriend was an athlete,” he corrected. “I would often massage out any knots or kinks for her.”

“Ex?”

“Yeah. We broke up last month. I wanted to get married and she wanted to move in with the other guy she was seeing.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I suppose all the signs were already there. Lean forward some more, please.” You do; he continues: “She’d stay out late, hid her phone, talk and text late into the night. I ignored it because I loved her. I was so fucking stupid! Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to cuss.”

You laugh at his politeness. “Chadwick, it’s fine. Class isn’t in session. There are no children here.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Right. How’s that feel?”

“Good. Too good. I kinda don’t want you to stop.”

“Well, I’ll have to eventually. Five more minutes then we have to get back to these papers.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” You close your eyes and drift away on the comfort of his soothing hands.

“I’m sorry about your divorce,” he says. 

Your eyes pop back open. So much for relaxation. “Yeah. Thanks,” you reply curtly. “Not to be rude but I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Oh. Sorry. My bad.”

“It’s nothing personal. It just feels like I’ve been talking about nothing but that for the last three months, you see.”

“I completely understand.” He stops massaging you and returns to his stack of papers. For the next twenty minutes, you both sit quietly grading. “What does this say?” he asks finally breaking the silence. He hands you an essay. “Is that highway or Hemingway? Wait is that even an H at all?”

You squint in an attempt to make out the student’s horrible writing. “That’s… Hemingway.”

“Ah! Okay.” He started to go back to his seat but stopped short. “So is that answer right or wrong?”

“It’s wrong. That’s a question about Longfellow.”

After another half hour of tedious work you exhale a long exhausted grunt drawing Chadwick’s attention to you. “You know, we don’t have to finish these tonight,” he suggests. “We can meet up tomorrow and I’ll help you sort through them.”

“No. I can’t ask you to give up your weekend. Just because I don’t have a life doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

“It’s no bother. Really. Honestly, this is the highlight of my weekend.”

“I don’t believe that. A handsome young man like you. Surely you must have a lot of dates or activities lined up.”

“Thank you but I don’t. The top of my to-do list is ‘clean out garage’ and ‘paint living room’ and those have been there for at least the last six months.”

You chuckle. “What about your friends? None of them want to go out and… skeeball or something?”

“‘Skeeball?’” He shoots you a confused look.

“I really don’t know what kids your age do now-a-days.”

“I’m far from a kid. Besides we’re only a decade apart.”

You nodded as you watch him carefully read over the paper in his hand. It’s obvious he’s trying not to make another mistake. Bless his heart. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks back at you. “Sure.”

“Why are you here?” A look of offense grows on his features and you realize your error. “Sorry. I mean, why did you decide to become a T.A.?”

“Oh.” The face softens into a smile. “I originally got my degree in accounting. Thought that was what I wanted to do, what I was MEANT to do. Fast forward some years and I ended up hating my job and myself. So I decided to quit, go back to school, and refocus my attention on a subject I’ve always loved.”

“Teaching English to high schoolers.”

“Uh, no.” He chuckled softly. “I actually prefer science. Biology.”

“So why the hell–?”

“The system’s pretty messed up. I need experience and Avery High was looking so here I am. They didn’t really care what my specialty was and I needed a job badly, and you need help just as bad. I’m actually waiting for a position to open at Hammond. In a couple of months I should be free to work toward my certification there.”

“So… a science teacher currently assisting an English Lit teacher. I suppose it could be worse.”

“True. Besides, I know the basics like how to write a paper so that’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, but you suck at literature, dude.”

“Oh, c’mon! I’m not THAT bad.”

“Chadwick, you couldn’t tell the difference between a William Carlos Williams poem and a Frost one.”

“In my defense,” he said with a chuckle, “how many people actually know about that damn ‘Red Wheelbarrow’ poem? Hmm?”

“So many, dude,” you reply with a laugh. “Like millions of people.”

You both share a laugh and for the first time in a month, the air doesn’t feel as stuffy. You don’t feel so burdened. It’s nice to have a conversation where someone doesn’t bring up your failed marriage.

“If you’re going to be teaching Bio you need to be extra careful with those labs. It’s one thing to drop papers, it’s another to drop chemicals. I don’t like Hammond but I don’t want the school to explode,” you joke.

“I assure you I’ll be much more careful there.”

“Oh really? Are they thinking of getting one of those remote controlled bots the bomb squad uses?”

He chuckles. “No. No, I mean… I doubt I’ll be such a–”

“Klutz?” you finish for him.

He smiles and nods in agreement. “Usually I’m epitome of grace. It’s just… Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I shouldn’t say.”

“Chadwick, tell me. You spilled hot coffee all over my work and clothes. I think I’m entitled to your answer.” You smile awaiting his reply. He rises and walks closer to you.

“I was going to say…” he sits on a clear spot on the edge of your desk, “the reason I’m such a mess around you is because you make me nervous.”

“What? Little ol’ me?” you joke. But then he takes your hand in his and stares intently into your eyes.

“Yes, little ol’ you.”

Your heart begins to race. What exactly is going on right now? If you didn’t know any better you would say he was flirting with you but that can’t be. It’s been so long since anyone has flirted with you, you can’t be certain of what’s transpiring. This is what happens when your joyous marriage fades into bitterness and deceit. You mistake common courtesy for something more.

You’re sure you’re misreading the entire situation but then he hooks an index under your chin. He leans into your face. “You had my attention the moment we shook hands.”

“I did?” you ask, your face twisted in confusion.

He nods. “You did. Now I’m going to ask you something and you have every right to decline, of course. But before I ask it, I want you to be certain that our age is not a factor here. No one is too old or too young for anyone so there is no inappropriateness there, understand?”

“Uh… I guess so.” 

He leans further in, your lips are a breath apart. He says barely above a whisper, “May I kiss you?”

No, seriously! What was happening? Just a moment ago you both were joking and laughing and minutes before that you were sitting in awkward silence. How did you guys possibly get here?

Maybe you misheard him. That’s it! So ask him to repeat himself. Clarification never hurt anyone. “What?”

“May I kiss you?” he repeats.

Yep. You definitely heard him right. You swallow hard as you stare into his eyes. They’re brown and warm, just like his thumb ghosting against your cheek, just like his hands were on your neck earlier. There’s no hint of mocking in either his tone or eyes. Every so often they fall to your lips as if he’s studying your mouth, as if he had been doing it often unbeknownst to you. They’re pleading for you to say yes. So you can fulfill some long-held desire. Or maybe settle some curiosity. Either way, how long has it been since you’ve been kissed? Months? No. Years, definitely. A soft peck on the lips would be heaven right now.

But you know better. Didn’t he say he had just gotten out of a bad relationship? You’re suffering through the ending of one as well. If you consent to this, if you both pass this line, things could very well get messier before they get better. A kiss would be hell right now. It would ignite a flurry of confusing emotions that neither of you really want to open up. It’s could be a simple kiss, nothing more. Or it could be everything.

Goddammit! Now you’re even more confused than when he first grabbed your hand. “No,” you finally say as you gently pull away from him.

“What?”

“I said ‘no.’ Pack your things and go home. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“But… I….” It was his turn now to be confused. But you didn’t care to wait while he worked everything out. You rose and turned from him.

“Don’t worry about the tests. I’ll finish grading them myself.”

“But, Mrs.–”

You turn to him again. “See you on Monday,” you repeat, your tone hard but not cold. That’s the same sternness you use on your students when they think your warnings are jokes. You turn back toward the window trying to push the incident from your mind.

“I’m sorry,” he says but you don’t respond. You don’t even look at his reflection in your window. This is how you’ll move on from this incident. Ignore it, kill the memory and any lingering feelings it produces. Allow nothing to grow or remain but professionalism. You hear him rustling about, collecting his jacket and bag. “I’ll see you Monday,” he says as the heels of his boots march out into a fade.


	12. Prompt 12: Chadwick Boseman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't completely do this prompt correctly but I like where it ended up.

Prompt: "How about you wanting to get hooked up with the new cat at your gig by your friend, who just happens to be your friend's favorite cousin."

* * *

 

You’re sitting at a small table with a few close friends. The current band on stage is providing a perfect atmosphere for your performance later on. The guy on stage has been billed as “The Next Louis Armstrong!” And he’s living up to the moniker. 

You take a sip of your rum and coke as you rock from side to side at the sound of him blowing on this trumpet. The crowd shouts out “Ooh, child! Yes! Play it, boy!” as he gets deep into his number. You love nights like these. Warm summer nights, tossing back drinks as you waft away on jazz and amazing conversations with your friends. You never want them to end.

You glance at the time on your cell. You’ll be going up in twenty. You excuse yourself to the restroom to freshen up. You urinate–there’s nothing worse than performing on a full bladder–wash your hands, then refresh your make up. You want to look your best before you go on stage. The club has low lighting and not many people are going to see your face clearly anyway but still. Mama always said “Never half-ass anything, girl. You gonna give them a show? Give them a _show_!” 

That meant dressing to the nines in a short, sequined dark blue dress that made your 5′9, thick frame stand out even more. You keep your hair cut in a short bob for easier maintenance. Your lips are stained with a vibrant red so that even if none can see your features clearly, they will surely make out your mouth. When you coo these lyrics you want them to see it as well as feel it.

You give yourself one last glance over then saunter out of the restroom. You stop at the bar and order a bottle of cold water to be sent to the stage later. Sometimes it gets real hot under the lights. You thank the bartenderthen head back to your usual table. You stop short when you see a man is already sitting in your spot talking to your best friend, Michaela.

You assume it was some thirsty jerk who jumped at the opportunity to spit some weak ass game at her. Poor thing’s always getting hit on by randoms trying to make her their conquest for the night. They always get shut down. This fool is simply wasting his time. Michaela is married with two kids and she’s not looking for any side pieces.

Normally you would wait on the sideline and watch her break another fool’s heart, but your feet need to rest. The heels you’re wearing are killer on your arches. A few minutes off them would do them some good. You’re not about to wait to see if this dude takes Michaela’s never-too-subtle hints in her disinterest or not. “Excuse me,” you say tapping him on the shoulder. “She’s not interested and that’s my seat so go find some other chick to harass.”

The man turns to you and you suddenly feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment. It’s not a random, it’s Michaela’s fine ass cousin, Chadwick! “Oh my god, Chadwick! I didn’t recognize you!”

“Apparently,” he jokes. He rises and extends his arms for a hug. You accept and nearly melt in his warm embrace. Damn he smells good as fuck too. What is the name of cologne? Or is that his natural scent? God help you. _Don’t sniff him, girl. Calm your fucking thirst!_

He releases you and you want to pout. That was way to short of a hug. All hugs with him must last at least two hours. “I’m sorry I didn’t know this was your seat.” He pulls it out and lets you sit. He borrows another empty one from a nearby table and plants himself right next to you. “So,” he says to you, “I heard that you’re singing tonight.”

“Yeah. I have a regular gig here. Twice a week.”

Chadwick looks around the club. “It’s a very good crowd here. Packed.”

“Nah,” you dismiss. “this isn’t for me. It’s for him.” You signal the man on stage. “Joe Arnez. The hottest trumpeter in the south. Plays so good they call him ‘Lil Satchmo.’”

“Yeah,” he agrees while rocking to the beat. “He _is_ good. But I bet you’re even better.”

Oh lord… He deserves to be slapped for flirting with you like this. Slapped then kissed then slapped again. Chadwick has been in a long-term relationship for as long as you’ve known Michaela. He’s been in love with one girl all his life. Sadly she isn’t–and never will be–you. You know this. It’s the only thing keeping you from falling too hard for him.

And yet…

There’s a tiny part of you that’s always hoping he’ll leave her. You know it’s wrong to wish heartache on another person. Which is why you keep those sentiments to yourself. “Stop,” you finally say to his compliment. A large, pleased grin sits on your face. You look away so he won’t see the reaction he has on you.

The raucous applause of the crowd draws your focus away from your and Chadwick’s conversation. Joe has just finished playing. No one has ever really called the tall, matchstick thin man handsome but right now, deep in his element, he could almost pass for sexy. That’s why the front tables are lined with fawning women. He bows and flashes them a large, gap-toothed grin before stepping down in the mist of them. You watch amazed as he kisses and openly flirts with a pretty, heavyset woman at the table in front of you. Her boyfriend is visibly unamused. _That’s gonna be trouble,_ you think. You just pray nothing pops off before you can finish your set.

The MC takes to the stage. “Give it up one more time for Joe Arnez!” Wild applause erupts again. “Now we got a real treat for y’all coming to the stage. One of New Orleans own. She has the vocals that’ll make Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan cry. The vivacious… the curvaceous… the delicious,” the audience laughs at that, “Queenie!”

You stand to your feet at the sound of your stage name. Scattered applause greets you as you take the stage. Michaela and Chadwick are the only ones audibly cheering for you. Bless them. It’s okay though. You’re sure you’ll win the crowd over. You always do.

“Thank you,” you say to the MC. “Thanks, Joe. Thanks to the band as well. Hello, everyone. How y’all feeling tonight?” The crowd shouts back a myriad of answers. This seems to be a good group tonight. Usually you have a plethora of drunk commentators which often throws you off your game. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna start tonight off nice and slow. This is a song I’ve been working on that I think y’all gonna really enjoy.”

You nod to the band and immediately the bass begins to play; followed soon after by the drums, then guitar, and finally piano. You close your eyes sway to the beat letting the music flow through you. The crowd is already feeling the tune. Just wait until they hear you sing!

You start off slow with a few hummed bars. You slide your long fingers up the mic stand until you cusp the mic between both palms. Both you and the music stop. You flip open your eyes. They land directly on Chadwick. He’s smiling at you, silently cheering you on. The music kicks back in and you coo out: “Baby, look in my eyes…/Tell me what do you see…/A woman standing here/Awaiting you/Craving you/And your intimacy.”

Your hips start to sway again. “I know you have a girl…/I’m not tryna compete…/She’ll have you always but tonight/Tonight you’re with me.”

Your hands resume their slow movement down the stand. The smile on Chadwick’s lips begin to slowly fade. He swallows hard as he soaks in the lyrics. You rock your hips back and forth and continue. “Tell me, pretty darling… /Does she kiss you there?/Tell me, pretty baby/Tell Queenie all about them aches…/I bet that I…/I know that I…/Can take the pain away/Just say yes.”

The crowd is feeling you now. They’re egging you on. “You better sang, girl! Yes, girl! Yes!”

You press your lips against the mic, not caring that your lipstick rubs off on it. Chadwick is practically leaning over the edge of his chair now. His eyes are fixated on you. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time. You’re making love to him through the song and he knows it.

“We can both love you/But tonight…/Tonight you’re mine/Tell her don’t worry…/You’ll be fine/Better than she’ll ever have you/Oh, tell me/Tell me, pretty baby/Does she give it to you this good?/You ain’t gotta lie!”

The beat picks up a step as you start to really feel the song. You’re rocking your hips back and forth. The stand is now coddled between your thick thighs. The audience is whooping as you grind against it. You’re rotating between purring and growling out the lyrics. Chadwick sits dumbfounded. He licks his lips as he watches you. You got him now.

“Come to me, baby!/Come to me!/Give Queenie some sugar!” He rises to his feet.

“C’mon, baby, baby!/Tell Queenie where it aches!” He staggers entranced towards the stage. Michaela tries to pull him back but he snatches away.

“Don’t be shy, lover!/C’mon and touch me now!/Leave her behind!/Taste my honey all here for you!” He stands now at the foot of the stage; eyes widened, captured in your spell. He reaches up for you. 

You grab him roughly by the shirt and plant a heated kiss on him. The crowd loves it. They assume it’s all a part of the act. They don’t know that this wouldn’t–and probably shouldn’t–be happening under any other circumstances. Your lips part. You leave him red-lipped, astounded, drunken on nascent lust.

You grab the mic and finish off the song. “She don’t have to know, pretty baby/You can be mine for just one night.”


	13. Prompt 13: Erik Killmonger

Prompt: "You ask Erik to explain how he plans to overthrow T'challa & take up his rightful place on the throne, but he's reluctant to give you the details. Instead, he lectures you on the history of the Wakandan monarchy. He notices you losing interest so he brings up the Dora Milaje, which perks you up.. until he starts teasing you about going head to head against Okoye. The thought has him howling with laughter. You are not amused. What do you do next?"

* * *

I roll my eyes and walk away. He’s still laughing, tickled by my annoyance. He likes to do this: push limits. But I know how to push back. I smirk to myself then say, ‘You don’t have a plan, do you?“

His laughter ceases. “What?”

I peak over my shoulder and repeat, “You don’t have a plan.” I turn to him now. “Do you?”

It’s a challenge and he knows it. He doesn’t like to be questioned. He’s brilliant, keeps all his plans to himself. That’s why he diverts to the same old stories of the glorious days of being a boy in Wakanda, or fantasizing about warring with the Dora Milaje. Whatever he’s brewing, would remain a mystery until he was ready to reveal it.

In the past I would allow it. Let him refocus my attention but now… Now I have grown tired. “Tell me, my king, what you intend to do.”

“Why?” he asks, his voice heavy with suspicion. Even now, after all these years, he is still hesitant to trust.

I return to the couch, clasping his hands in mine. “Because I love you.” He smiles. It’s tiny and quick. He must remain strong. Always. “And you love me.” Another flash of a smile. Saying the words were always difficult for him. In fact, I had only heard it once in our entire relationship. And when it was spoken, it was so soft, so delicate, that it almost went unnoticed. Erik, rather, was a man of action. He would kill a man with his bare hands if I asked him to. He would lay his life down for mine if need be. These things he would do without hesitation. I much preferred it. A man who actions spoke for him.

That is why it annoyed me now that he bombarded me with never ending filler and distractions. All tell and no show. Rather, neither tell nor show. “Erik,” I begin again, my voice steady but my tone impatient. “Tell me how you will bring Wakanda to its knees. Give me the specifics. Unless…” I look away as a new thought enters my mind. I stutter in an attempt to voice it. “Y-you… no longer see me as your queen.”

“Do you really believe that? That I would not take you with me?

"I’m not sure what I believe right now. For the last year and a half, all you’ve talked about is wanting the throne, about taking it back. But you’re all talk and nothing more. You’re not the man I’ve come to know and love. You have made no loves, no efforts besides boring me with the same old stories. If I wanted to be talked to death I’d listen to NPR!” The elicits a laugh from him, loud and hearty. “This isn’t funny, Erik.”

He calms himself then takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist. “I’m sorry, baby.” He relents with a sigh and says, “I’m gonna take Wakanda down from within.”

I lean in eager for more details, “How?”

“I will rip the security from their hands, bleed them out in droves. Make them see that their precious haven has been tainted under the rule of that bullshit king,” he nearly spat the words out.

I could feel the excitement rising in me as he spoke. “How will you do that?”

“I’ve made a few friends in my travels. Gave them the blueprints to every chip and crack in the walls of Wakanda. There will be war coming from every side. I will break T'Challa until he begs for mercy.”

“And will you show him any, my king?”

“No,” he says sternly.

I smile, satisfied. “Good. We’ll put the fear of the gods into him, baby.”

“We?” he questions with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah. Wherever you go, I go. And you know why?”

“Cuz you’re my ride or die.”

I kiss his lips. “You goddamn right I am.”


	14. Prompt 14: Erik Killmonger

Prompt: "Operation Baecation begins with a visit to the AI conference. As you marvel at the latest developments in machine learning, Erik scoffs, muttering something about a princess. You ignore him until he lets out a raucous laugh at the sight of an AI evangelist showcasing the "next generation of technology". He heckles the speaker mercilessly and doesn't show signs of relenting until..."

* * *

Until you forcibly pulled him through the onlooking crowd and pass the draped double doors. You’re standing on the back patio of the building now. The wind is chilly and wet from an earlier rain. The bottom of your dress is already soaked from passing over a puddle. You’re annoyed; you’re embarrassed; you’re uncomfortable. And he is still heckling the speaker.

“Erik!” you yelled through your teeth. You’re trying not to raise your voice. You don’t need any more attention tonight. “What the hell has gotten into you?” It was a rhetorical question. You knew exact what was in him: two flutes of champagne and at least half a bottle of Scotch. You knew you should have accompanied him to the bar but no! You just had to make small talk. If you had kept close to him like you promised yourself, you would still be warm inside; the only would be sore feet. But here you stood, near frozen, contemplating your feelings for this man.

“Did you hear him?” Erik slurred. “Did you hear that bullshit? ‘Next generation’? Next generation my ass!” he yelled at the doors.

“Okay. Oh… kay.” You grabbed his arms and refocused his attention to you. “Babe, you’re drunk.”

“I had like one drink, fuck you mean?”

“One…” you exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Look, dude… Okay. Fine. I’m too tired to do this with you tonight, Erik, okay? I don’t wanna fight.”

“What fight? You’re the one who brought me out here. I was just tell that lying asshole,” his voice rose an octave with each insult, “that he can take his thieving ass,” he made a beeline for the door; you quickly ran to block him, “the fuck back to America!”

“Erik, that’s enough!” Now you allowed your voice to meet his. “Goddammit! You always do this shit! I am sick of it!” He was visibly wounded by your words but you persisted. “I swear to God I can’t take your extra ass anywhere! Stay doing the fucking most at the worst goddamn times!”

He rolled his eyes and took a step back. “Man, fuck. Whatever,” he muttered under his breath but you caught it.

“'Whatever’? That’s all you got to say to me? Whatever! My daddy had to pull connec–”

“Don’t you start that shit! Don’t you bring your rich ass daddy into this!”

“Fuck you, Erik! Your ass brought him in when you were begging me for tickets! And now that we’re here you on some bullshit! Boy, I swear sometimes you just make me so–” You concluded your thought with a scream. Once the sound of it dissipated, your conversation lulled into a deep silence.

Through the doors you could hear the sound of rapturous applause. The world inside continued on as a new speaker took the stage. Her voice was young, full of promise and hope. How you envied being that young again! Life was much simpler.

You clutched the door handle, pausing while you debate opening it. You if do, this might be it. The relationship hasn’t been the same for a while. His obsessions and behavior have grown tiresome. This vacation was to steady you; put the relationship back on track. It derailed somewhere years ago and neither were willing to investigate the causes. You both moved now out of habit. Circling the same old moves, recycling the same conversations. Yes that was to be expected but wasn’t the routine supposed to bring you comfort? Security?

You pushed the latch on the handle, felt the tumblers click allowing you to pull it open. All you had to do was make an effort. Just one swift motion and you could leave all this complication behind. Leave this man that you’ve loved for have a decade to stew in his drunken self-hatred and misplaced anger.

You signed in resignation then turned back to him. “Erik,” your tone was softer now. The agitation and anger now dissolved into remorse. For yourself, for him, for who you both used to be. You owed to those young lovers to try again. “Erik, look at me.” He refused. God damn that stubbornness! “Please.” Still nothing. “Lissen,” your voice was fragile now, cracking under the weight of what you were about to do. What you now had no choice but to do. “Talk to me. I know you. And I know all this ain’t about some white American man being a white American man. So what’s really going on with you? Tell me please.” He looked at you now but still said nothing. “If you don’t say something–anything!–then I’m going back inside. And when I do that,” now your voice completely faltered; mourning is always too hard, “I’m not coming back. Ever.”

If lips parted as if to speak. Yes, your thoughts pleaded, say something! But he didn’t. Instead he scoffed and shook his head then came towards you. You thought he meant to embrace you until he reached behind you and pulled open the door. Even though you knew this was best, to let this thing end here on this cold night, your heart broke a bit.

“Okay,” you relented. You’ve fought long enough. “Okay,” you repeated before pecking a soft kiss on his cheek. One last moment of affection.

He allowed it; closed his eyes and embraced the surprising warmth of it. You allowed yourself to take in this moment. You wanted to remember him like this. This rare moment of vulnerability. God he was beautiful. You prayed he knew that. That no matter how hard or difficult he could be, you saw that person he tried to hide away. And that you loved him as best as could for as long as you could.

“Goodbye, Erik,” you whispered as you entered the building and faded into the crowd.


End file.
